


All The Pretty Girls

by blueishdesire



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF, Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Police AU, Scientific language, attempted plot, murder case, personality change, really slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-06-29 03:36:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15721164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueishdesire/pseuds/blueishdesire
Summary: The unknown female body has been found in the alley between trash bins. Her body is marked with bruises and the back side of her skull is crushed. Everything seems easy to handle until the autopsy. Revealed information changes direction of investigation to slushy ground of suspicions, hints and luck guesses. Hammer and Chalamet the unusual duo of crime investigation unit will have to seek underneath the surface to find the answers.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve decided to give it a try since I stuck with this story in my head. A huge thanks to everyone that encouraged me to post it (especially Brook and whole Discord squad). Xiav you started it – I mean it was because of you I start writing – hugs!  
>  **Disclaimer:** I’m not a medic nor a cop, basically what I want to say that sometimes things won’t be the same as they are real life, though I would try for them to be.  
>  Sometimes I will use a scientific/medical language – if you can’t understand what I’m talking about just ask (or googled it), I’ll be glad to help you with reliable information.  
> Also this is a fiction – characters are my creation, perhaps you’ll find them surprising (I’ve changed some of their features, so they could match the story better)

_"Life is anything but fair, life is anything but fair"_

**All the pretty girls, Kaleo**

 

“You’re an ass”

 _‘Is that how you start a day at work’_ Timmy thought, giving a quick glance at Armie. Well he knew he earned it frankly easily, but pissing Armie was the best sort of entertainment and it was rather addictive. And honestly, who he was trying to deceive, he didn’t care that people called him a ‘ _fucking bastard’_ just because he has guts to tell the truth right in the eyes. Or maybe the reason he was called as such was that he enjoyed it a lot. Timmy frequently opted for the latter.

“What I’ve done to be called like this?” his tone remotely cold, his face a blank page and his attention utterly on paperwork gathered on his desk.

“ Oo you perfectly now what” Armie groans roughly, stopping in front of Timmy after he slammed the door to their office, freeing his rage in some way. He stops and waits impatiently for Timmy to look up and when he finally does the perfect poker face is still there and only a slight curve in the corner of his lips is giving him away (not that Armie could noticed it). He’s truly enjoying the moment.

“Yes?” Timmy asks, straightening himself, his hands at the back of his head, flattening dark curls

“You send me straight to the sharks, to be eaten to the bones” he responds exaggeratedly, putting his huge hands on Timmy’s desk, leaning forward to look him in the eyes

“You mean that you’ve gone to our sweet Marion, right?!”

“Fuck, you know I did”

“Honestly, you should just tell her you are not interested in her and get over this whole situation. I won’t lie you that her ways to lure you on a date are … well for lack of better word _eccentric_. It’s the best way to cheer me up, so if you want to keep it that way just for my sanity I would be very grateful” sly smirk appears on his face and he watches amused how Armie rage increases. It was his mainly drug and he enjoyed it every single time.

“You fucking..”

“Bastard?” Timmy suggests, watching with amazement how painfully fast vein on Armie’s neck is pulsing right now. He exhales slowly, giving them both time to recover from rather _usual_ argument, though Armie wouldn’t agree with it. He stands, grabbing the essentials “If you done with your accusation that I’d done it on purpose, you better get your stuff and move. We’ve got a case” he adds at the end matter-of-factly, observing through semi-closed eye-lids how Armie tries to regain his composure, biting his bottom lip, his hands holding the edge of his desk in hard grip.

“What’s the case” he asks after a moment, in more control of himself right know, though Timmy still see furiously throbbing vein on his neck.

“Murder”

“A murder?!” Armie parrots with shocked voice, glancing at him as if he wanted to confirm that it’s not another joke “Who?”

“A hooker or a whore if you want me to be more vulgar than I usually am”

          At first Armie had huge problem to deal with such explicit tongue that Timmy more than often uses. Especially in their profession – murders, rapes and much more hard stuff he could think of and with all honesty he preferred to not think of it at all. He was not ready to call even a prostitute _whore_ , because it was a human being and now she was dead, god only knows why. And he had too much guilt and remorse inside him. They argued about it countless times, because for Armie it was rude, impolite and _fucking_ disgusting. He found later that it was Timmy’s way to somehow cope with all shit they were into. Even if he wasn’t’ happy with it, he was trying really hard to not start another argument about his vocabulary, though he couldn’t help himself in special occasions. So instead of throwing them both to yet another, futile _discussion_ (although it was more like Armie yelling and Timmy responding with cold stoicism), he bits his lip and counts to then. Holding breath in his lungs for more seconds than usually and finally nods. It’s a signal for both of them to stop whatever this time is between them and go to work. Because even if they don’t fit perfectly, they know for what exactly they’re in this place. It’s time to move.

 

* * *

 

 

          They get to the place in 20 minutes, stepping out of the car they both look around. Taking mind-notes about the area, surroundings, few _not-quite-in-place_ faces in the crowd. It’s what they do and they’re both good at it. Armie moves slowly after Timmy, taking more time not only to get as much first impressions as he can, but to prepare himself to the scene. God only knows what they will find there. Maybe only a corpse of a woman, strangled to death. Or perhaps pool of blood with pretty girl in the middle. Breathless. Lifeless.  Shock present forever in her eyes. He finally follows Timmy, entering dark alley between two buildings. It’s more humid and cold in there. His shoulders sags, the pressions builds up in the pit of his stomach and he can’t help the feeling to turn on his heels and simply walk away. Instead he moves forward. Timmy is there, crouching beside the corpse, nitrile gloves already on his hands. He traces the body slightly with his fingers, watching for more evident bruises, he touches the jaw and stir it the right side, exposing the neck.

“Morning” Armie says stepping closer, staring at the body. The pathologist nods at him and stands.

“Female. Age around 20-27. She has her skull crushed, for now I would say it was the cause of death. But I will say more after autopsy. She has multiple bruises over whole body, some are fresh but some quite old. But it might come along with her profession. The only thing odd was the little cut on the inside of her hand. It’s not deep, but exceptionally long. It wasn’t the usual kitchen knife, I’m sure about that. But it might be a coincidence after all” he ads finally, looking at both of them with knowing eyes. As if they haven’t seen enough coincidence, to believe it only happens in books.  

“No name, no personal belongings, not even a small purse with red-whore lipstick inside” Timmy says, removing gloves and shoving them to the pocket “She was found by the waiter, he was ending his shift and had to throw multiple bags of trash. He’s right there” Timmy point out to the skinny boy collapsed in the pavement with a cigarette in his hands. Armie nods. The thing is – they don’t like each other, but they know they roles, so as usually Armie is first to interrogate the witness. He has, as Timmy frequently reminds him, the utterly _fucking_ politeness in his mouth. It’s not only the words itself, but tone of the voice, questions asked at right time and this urge bubbling in his veins to make it better for this person. He walks towards the guy slowly, watching carefully for any signs of distress. As most of their cases boy’s agitated, his hands are shaking whilst he inhales another deep drag in miserable way to gather up.

“I’m officer Hammer. I need to ask you a few questions” the boy nods absentmindedly as if not fully aware of the presence of another person in front of him “Your name, telephone and address” he darts a look at him, horrified and frighten “Those are routine questions” he assures him. He tosses effortlessly stub of the cigarette to the pavement and stands up. Armie is grateful for that, it’s easier this way and sooner they’ll finish, the sooner guy would go home and do everything to not think about this at all. He may drunk himself, he may take sleeping pills, he may smoke some weed or eat as many chocolate bars he can before he throws up. It doesn’t matter. The both want to finish it.

          Timmy leans over the car, when Armie approaches him.

“It’s Mark Greeny. 23 years old. He lives like 3 blocks from here with his roommate, but he doesn’t see him a lot. He was working from six in the morning, ended up his shift around half past one, because the guy who was supposed to pop in his place was late, apparently some traffic somewhere in the city. Nothing unusual, nothing that didn’t happen before neither. He was taking the trash bags here, when he spotted her. He isn’t really sure what he did, he obviously freaked-out but stands he touched her neck, not entirely convinced she’s dead. Then we came and it’s all I could drag from him in this state”

“He perhaps knows who she is? Or where we could find more information about her”

“He said it was the first time he saw her and it’ll be always imprinted in his mind. So I guess for both for your questions the answer is negative. He didn’t know her, he can’t say where we should look neither” Armie responds with a hint of disappointment in his tone. He didn’t think Mark would know her, it would be too much luck for them and apparently they didn’t get simple, easy cases. But he had high hopes that maybe she was from around here. That he saw her a couple of times in the street, when he was going back to his place after the shift.

“And he is sure about it? He wasn’t really looking at her I suppose?! The view was awfully repulsive. Maybe he’d seen her around, but with full make-up, good clothes and the picture he has in mind doesn’t quite fit this scene” he waves distractedly at the alley. The corpse now in black bag, removed completely from there in couple of minutes by pathologist’s assistants.

“Should I drag him there, grip his neck and forced him to look at her face, so he could tell me exactly that he doesn’t recognise her at all or only now because she is like dead” Armie spit out, anger bubbling in his tone, but he tries, he really tries to remain calm.

“Maybe you should. I would” Timmy says cold and bitter. Yeah he knows how his question sound, but _fuck_ it, Armie shouldn’t lecture him about this. It was common behaviour to push strict images of our minds, because we couldn’t handle them. And for the record, he was more than 100% sure (though from any scientific way it wasn’t possible and therefore he was creating something from nowhere and the world didn’t work like this) that _this Mark_ didn’t pay attention of girl features. He just checked her pulse, was terrified what he had found and called the police to deal with it. He could be some sort of pervert who liked dead bodies or – god forbid – play with them. But as far as Timmy could tell, this was not the case. He was smoking one cigarette after the other, trembling from head to toes when first patrol arrived (as Timmy was told) and was barely standing when he was questioned.

“You?” Armie asks after a while

“No one from the stuff knows her, though I’m not sure about it as they saw only pictures we got from crime-scene. They all stand it’s a peaceful zone and those kind of things don’t really happen around. Mostly small robberies, bikes, purses, jewellery only occasionally. It correspond what I’ve looked. It’s family area, couples in their mid-thirties with children, sometimes happens to be students or after-college buddies. As far as that no hints about who is she, because when you go out for a walk with your pretty wife and perfect child, you don’t happen to come across a whore leaning over the wall waiting for a client. Not the best case-scenario from what I recall” the smirk tone always pushes Armie to the edge of giving up and starting a riot in the street, especially when Timmy says everything so nonchalantly as he is giving zero fucks to everything they found here. And it pisses Armie to the marrow of his bones. He bits inside of his cheeks and counts in his mind. Not the time. Not the place.

“Scientific shit” he asks when Timmy rolls his eyes at his attempts to stay good

“They found everything they could possibly find in the street. Lot of hairs, footprints, some dead skin. Nothing special nor unusual. Or they didn’t find out it is unusual. Though they’re still collecting things, so maybe we would get a hint where to start. If no we’ll have to wait few days until autopsy and scientific report will be done. And do things we can, so ask around, see if anyone recognizes her and have seen her here recently. Maybe go few blocks away and see if we can find any hookers there.”

“So I assume that’s our plan” Armie summarize and Timmy nods. It’s all and nothing they can do at the moment.

 

* * *

 

 

“I’m sorry for what happened there. For what I’d said sounded” he says after couple of minutes of complete silence between them, when they’re back in the office and both try to do some paperwork.

“You’re not” Timmy says, because it’s true and because he doesn’t like untruthful apologise. And because he likes teasing Armie and it’s not even three.

“Timmy”

“Don’t Timmo-me. You wanted to say it and that’s totally fine by me. As well as your tone. I have my own brain as you may have noticed, so don’t play fool with me. And if you still feel bad about all of this and the fact that I don’t give a fuck about insincere sorry’s than maybe you should go and see Marion. Perhaps she could light up your mood” he adds with a bitter-sweet tone. And all Armie can do is bit his tongue. But apparently it doesn’t work much as in previous cases.

“You called her whore” he throws, standing from his chair and moving towards Timmy’s desk

“Yeah I did. And if you didn’t notice by now, that’s what women getting paid for sex are called. From what we know she was the one. So I really don’t get your point here?! Or perhaps the word itself is to vulgar for you delicate ears”

“Just watch your fucking mouth and we’ll be fine”

“Then maybe you should do the same” Timmy tosses sourly and looks at Armie. And Armie curses under his breath, because he got carried away once again. But it’s not his fault that he has to work with _a fucking bastard_. He doesn’t like argue with Timmy, mostly because he  always has a perfect answer for all his accusations towards his language-manners (and also lifestyle). It’s really hard to beat him in it, because the morals don’t count. But he doesn’t regret what he had said, nor he would apologise for it. This time he really has nothing to say sorry for.

          Silence between them stretches out like elastic band in fingers.  They’re both working, though Armie feels this urge under every pore of his skin to start some sort of conversation. Just because their argument didn’t end up well. They often are at each other’s throat, but there’s always a point when they both are exhausted and the reason why they started it is not quite clear. But this time was like a cut in the middle, each of them left with words on their tongues. Armie looks up, finding Timmy completely lost in work. One of his dark curls somehow lost in his forehead, his slender fingers holding a bunch of papers. It’s not like Armie hate him. He just doesn’t get along with whole Timmy-package, sometimes it’s utterly annoying, sometimes it pisses him to the bone, but sometimes it’s enjoyable. They’re good partners and if he thinks about it, that’s the only reason why they still work together after rows of catfights in the office about everything. Timmy is clever, a smart-ass. He understands more scientific shits that Armie could even think of, it comes quite handy in this job. He has this ability to explain this to dumb-ass Armie with simple, crude words. But even though they make good team, Timmy is always distant. They never ended up in bar drinking beer after Friday shift, like normally everyone was doing. Armie just goes there alone, drinking and laughing with other guys from their team. And he always leaves Timmy in the office, still working, lost in reports, photos, statements. _Fuck._ They were partners for about six months now and he didn’t now anything about Timmy. If he has sibling, if he is seeing someone at the moment, where he grew up. Some basic, even stupid things - like if you prefer dip your fries in ketchup or put layer of it on them. He was positively sure he talked about his family or himself about then times a day. Assuming Timmy eventually would do the same, but that didn’t happen. And now Timmy probably could draw his family tree, while he didn’t knew a single thing about him.

“You’re staring” Timmy neutral voice, drags him out of his spiral thoughts back to the present. He’s still sitting in front his desk, looking through a full list of people that were there when the body was found.

“Yeah … sometimes I’m staring” Timmy chuckles, looking at him and rolling his eyes.

“Well I better not mention that to Marion, she will freak out” he says casually, stretching his legs. The small crack of his neck audible in the room. Tiredness slightly haunting his eyes. He sighs, exhaling deeply.

“Maybe you should tell her” the playfulness colours Armie’s voice and Timmy gaze at him a little bit surprised, waiting for him to finish his thoughts. Because the possibility of him and Marion going on the date is near the value of temperature in Kelvin scale, so it’s like -275 only in percent “I would take her out to some fancy restaurant and behave like a Neanderthal, eating while talking with her so maybe some pieces of food would end up in her perfectly comb hairs. Drinking a lot of alcohol and saying utterly sexist things”

“Seems like a plan” Timmy says smiling genuinely “But if I were you I would be more careful with that. Maybe it’s her kink. The Neanderthal” he says it so casually that Armie almost chokes himself on his saliva. He isn’t quite sure what startles him more – the possibility that _weird_ Marion could really have that sort of kinks or Timmy mentioning it. The latter probably more, though thinking about it isn’t a good idea.

“You know what, I think I won’t look at her the same after what you’ve said. You know the images”

“So you are telling me that you stuc with images of Marion in your head?! I don’t even want to know how you play it. Spare me the pleasure, I’m good like this” sly smirk brighten his face, when he stands up. Grabbing the bottle of water from his desk and pours it down his throat. He stops in front the window, watching for few minutes people passing by, street lights casting warm shadows  on their faces. Anonymity is palpable and Timmy wonders how they’re going to find what was her name. The idea that they might not find out was trapped in his head along with the image of her lying there. In the cold alley between litter bins, the bruises on her numb body. The cut on her hand. He still feels how freezing her skin was underneath his fingertips. Messed hair, smudged red lipstick on the lips, one gold-painted earing. _The fallen angel_. Timmy can pictured her smiling, happy, waiting for her date not the client. The urge to smash something appears inevitably. To destroy it. To see how it shatters because of his force.

“Well I think I won’t risk to find out if it’s her stuff or not” Armie says eventually and Timmy turns over, one side of his mouth curled up in amusement “And I would call this a day. We have literally nothing more to work with, so probably the best thing left to do is go home and rest”

“Yeah, you’re right” Timmy’s voice comes soft, clear and quiet than usual. Armie looks at him, surprise tangling in his blue eyes. It was not that he expected Timmy to be rude or harsh, but he most of the time was. But the most unnerving thing was that Timmy always worked until late-night hours.

 

* * *

 

 

          The unusual feeling of walking with him side by side, was filling Armie’s thoughts, invading slowly. They’ve never left office together and that was what Armie realised just few seconds before, watching Timmy grabbing his coat and backpack from under his desk. Why this was something abnormal and not-in-place behaviour, he couldn’t decipher.

          Chilled night-air filled his lungs when they step outside and Armie is grateful of the little bit coldness layering onto his skin. He isn’t quite sure what he supposed to do next. He looks over his shoulder, to catch the glimpse of Timmy who is beside him and to Armie surprise holding a cigarette in his hand.

“Didn’t know you smoke” he says eventually, watching Timmy inhaling sharply, staring at him with piercing green eyes. Armie tries to relax, finding himself with this new version of his partner, which he didn’t even know that exists. Timmy shrugs, perhaps not certain if the good answer and truthful one are the same.

“Sometimes” he says white smoke surrounding him, street-light casting shadows on his face, making him even more surreal. Armie nods, some part of him wanting to know more, to press the issue more, until Timmy reveals the truthful why. But he doesn’t say anything, because _‘sometimes’_ is saying more about Timmy than this 6 months of working together.

Absently he walks toward parking-lot, hearing Timmy steps echoing in the chill night, the voice of existing humanity muffled.

“I’m going that way” Timmy finally says, pointing to the right. Armie stops, confused.

“I can give you a lift” the offer comes unexpectedly from his mouth, after the realisation that Timmy somehow doesn’t have a car, which Armie stupidly assumed.

“No need to. I can easily catch bus from here” he answers exhaling deeply the white smoke coming from his mouth, Armie stares at this for too long “I like walking, it helps to clear my head” he adds, tossing stub to the ground, trampling it with his shoe. “Goodnight then Armie”

“Night”

          He stands there. Still. Watching Timmy walk away, disappearing in the evening shadows, until he only sees his silhouette. When he finally goes to his car, his head is spinning with thoughts. He places his hands on the wheel, realizing he doesn’t know Timmy at all. That the most personal thing he can say about his partner is what he revealed few minutes before. _Smoking. Walking_. That hits Armie too hard in the chest, the strange feeling filling his body, immobilizing him. He repeats Timmy’s words, the lack of typical sarcasm he willingly uses, echoing in Armie’s ears. He smiles, he could easily get use to this. The engine starts and he slowly leaves parking-lot with this new-Timmy still in his head like a ghost.   


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s a slow-burn, let’s not forget about that. I know things are moving rather slowly, but dynamics of their partnership will improve soon. Hopefully no-one will get bored with this chapter.
> 
>  **Disclaimer** : I’m not a medic nor a cop, basically what I want to say that sometimes things won’t be the same as they are real life, though I would try for them to be.  
> Sometimes I will use a scientific/medical language – if you can’t understand what I’m talking about just ask (or googled it), I’ll be glad to help you with reliable information.  
> Also this is a fiction – characters are my creation, perhaps you’ll find them surprising (I’ve changed some of their features, so they could match the story better)

_"Bang, shots fired_  
_Pain is what you desire"_

**Start a war, Klergy**

 

          Armie walks in early, holding his precious hot, black coffee in paper cup, once again overthinking. He spent most of his weekend deliberating on Timmy’s-not-so-normal behaviour, managing only to conclude that he puts to much meaning to the thing itself. Though his mind is working on his own – as usually – so he doesn’t really try to stop his thoughts from spinning. It would be easier probably to just let the issue fade away, mostly because Timmy won’t talk about it or even want to talk about it. Either way Armie should drop the theme and stop looking for non-existent things, but he wants to know more. This stupid urgency to know something, anything about Timmy’s life, makes him dizzy. It’s a totally knew position, he wasn’t really thinking about his partner before, why he’s starting now?! Why it seems important now?!

          He stops before their office door, perfectly aware that Timmy is already there. Because he always is. This certainty is somehow reassuring, because even though it’s new territory for Armie to explore, he knows Timmy would be the same. Or at least the new part of him he met last time, will be gone.

“Morning” he says firmly, stepping inside, seeing Timmy at his desk looking at him shortly, nodding. Armie wonders for a moment if Timmy is one of those person that is rather unpleasant in the mornings and doesn’t talk much. Mind and body sleepy. But then he remembers that Timmy is mostly silent if they don’t talk about their cases. He clearly has much more ideas about Timmy than about the murder right now and he definitely should stop. ‘ _Make yourself useful Hammer’_

“What happened with those files from the other department? They send us few things to start work with, right?!” he asks after couple of seconds, wondering what the hell he did because it’s nowhere to be seen

“I’ve already got that. Nothing’s there”

“And when exactly you had time to do so” his tone is a little bit too harsh, he’s aware of that. But damn him right now if he wasn’t pissed. It was his godamn work

“Weekend” Timmy says eventually, looking at him a little bit confused

“Well thank you very much but I don’t need help with my own work. But apparently you can’t stay away. I don’t really know if you just thrilled because I will be fucking pissed or because you’re a little mister perfect”

“Both probably” Timmy snaps before he can control himself. He curls his hands underneath desk and stays still. For now it should be enough, then he can do more. He hears legs chair scratching against wooden floor and he finds himself alone in the office. Exhaling slowly, he stands up. He desperately needs a cigarette, wants to feel the smoke filling his lungs, wants to occupy his hands before he does something stupid. But he can’t, he curses under his breath. He needs to be cold and firm,  he doesn’t lose control. He mastered to perfection his self-restraining behaviour. He needs to stop and concentrate. He takes another deep breath, holding air in his lungs until it aches, exhaling slowly through his mouth. He can handle this case, it’s just a murder. Like some many other. It means nothing. But just before he gets back to work, he thinks it doesn’t feel like it. Why on Earth if feels more than _nothing_?!

 

* * *

 

 

          Alright, he behaved like a child, storming out the office slamming the door, saying nothing. He was angry and now he still is, not only at Timmy but also at himself. But what is mostly annoying is rather the fact that Timmy didn’t do it on purpose. He didn’t do it to piss him of. But Armie is so used to this and …  _fuck_ he’s hot-headed and irascible and sometimes he just acts. It’s emotional rollercoaster as far as he can tell. He thinks almost all the time, it’s his job, he does it for living (not the mention that he’d already spent two days contemplating Timmy’s odd behaviour). But on the other hand he’s man of the action and he rather puts himself in danger than weight risks and step out the way. Timmy has just this way to put him on the edge, to push him until he can’t control himself, to tease him until he snaps back. Armie isn’t quite sure if it’s only his privilege to be that person or Timmy acts like this with everyone. Whatever reason it is, Armie should know better, particularly after 6 months of work and million of small arguments, big fights and epic riots.

“It must be interesting” the sweet voice on his right pulls him back to reality. _Fuckfuckfuckfuck_. Marion is now standing in front of him, wide smile across her face and all Armie can think now is how fast he can end this chit-chat and hide himself.

“What?” he asks, making distance between them because strong rose fragrance invades his nostrils, penetrating with unbearable force and he does everything in his power to not cover his nose with free hand.  Asphyxiating. Suffocating.

“It must be interesting, what are you thinking I mean” she clarifies and stands there looking at him as if wanting to know more. The problem is Armie has no clue how to deal with her. It appears as she doesn’t get the little hints that he’s not interested in her and every time he sees her, she’s more keen to lure him on some special dinner, which she doesn’t even dare to call a date, because she knows it would scare a shit out of him. He’s always polite and gentle, he doesn’t want to turn it in some disaster. Though one thing is certain – one time he won’t be able to resist and would say everything he has on his tongue just right now. Somehow, standing in front of her, thinking of how persistent she’s, he ends up with the thought that he hasn’t this problem with Timmy. He can say a bunch of curses and even more than that and they’ll be cool. _It’s nothing personal,_ even if sometimes it really gets personal.

“I would say drastic. We are now on murder case” he says firmly and watches as her smile slowly fades, although she tries to maintain her façade. And Armie really doesn’t want to think if it’s impressing or disappointing. He just wants to go.

“Funny I met you here, because I was just thinking about you. You must remember Caren, I was talking about her few days ago. She’s the one with the weird cat and partner, like he’s not even her husband after 7 years of being together, could you believe that?! Well anyway, her partner is some sort of guru. I mean he’s not a real one, but … you know he kind of looks like one and they decided, though I’m quite sure if it was all his idea, that he can be one, because why not right?!  I’m not rude or something, but I think she isn’t so smart. At least not as she thinks. Back to the point. I was thinking about you, because they’re starting new group right now. He has now few of those, mostly with people they know and trust. But as she told me in a secret, they both think it’s time to expand. That’s why they’re trying to create a new space for newcomers. And that’s where things are a little tricky, you know?!” she is rambling as always and Armie doesn’t really know why things are tricky and he doesn’t care. He lets her talk, because if he tries to stop her, she becomes more frantic and maybe even will scream at him. But he needs to think of something and it has to be quickly, before she ends. If he doesn’t reject her offer with a good excuse, he is pretty sure this time she will win. And this story is just ridiculous, but still – Armie thinks – it’s Marion “I mean you totally get it, don’t you?! They need to find people they can relay on, couples I mean. So I thought and Caren immediately agreed with me that I should try this. It can be fun and of course I thought of you. I mean … we’re not couple-couple, but this could be a funny activity. And we could get to know each other. She says it looks like yoga, but you just like make some weird sounds and that’s what help you cope with reality. So what do you think?!”

 _FuckFuckFuckFuckFuck_ that’s what I think.

“Armie”

          He turns around, seeing Timmy standing few feet behind them, then moving forward to reach them. Armie waits for him to speak, watching carefully, though not surprised at all that Timmy usual composure is back. His face blank, his voice firm.

“Fuck off Marion” Timmy’s voice is coloured with kindness but rough nonetheless and Armie miserably fails to hide his amused smile “Frank called. He wants us there” he adds after a few seconds when Marione – offended and displeased – is gone. And it’s enough, because they both now that something is wrong. That whatever appeared in the autopsy is not a good sign. Timmy turns around, he said everything he needed to say, there’s no point wasting more time. Armie quickly follows him, not paying attention to Marion, leaving her behind without even a glance or simple nod. Maybe it will be a sign for her, but he actually doubts it.

          The car ride is full of awkward silence. Armie doesn’t want to talk and Timmy always prefers to keep his mouth shut when he doesn’t have anything important to say. It only takes 15 minutes to reach new dissection department for which Armie is actually grateful. He wants to put his mind on work, he wasted almost all morning acting like a child and now they will have to deal with reality of dead bodies. He still isn’t quite adapted to this. Being on crime scenes is one thing, but seeing naked, clear and cut people on the operating table is something completely different. Perhaps most unnerving and unsettling thing for him in this job. Sometimes he projects himself on that table. His hair damp, his insides open, his eyes shut forever. The hole after a gunshot visible in strong led lights. The image is powerful, stuck in his head even when he leaves the horror behind. It’s still there, unwanted but persistent.

          Timmy stops, holding car doors. Armie looks at him expectantly. Confused but curious.

“I just want to clear some things before we go inside” green eyes locked on him, his tone clear and firm “I didn’t do it on purpose. The paperwork”

 _‘Why this is so fucking hard’_ Timmy thinks. He knows what he should say. _Be honest_ prompt his brain. Easier said than done

“I wasn’t trying to steal your work or non-verbally suggest that you have no idea what are doing. I know you do. You’re my partner and for you information I starkly know how fucking good you are. I just “ he stops, not exactly aware what he should say to not sound desperate or broken “I just had a rough weekend and decided that work will help”

“It did?” Armie asks after few seconds, flattered by Timmy’s words

“What?”

“Work I mean. Did it help?”

“Yeah. Kind of” he utters sounding somehow unconvincing, Armie smiles. Maybe a little too stupidly, but right now it doesn’t matter. They’re cool.

“Then next time you’ll have to find something for yourself. Crosswords perhaps, because sometimes I also have a rough weekends. Are we going inside or now it’s time when we start arguing about which one of us had worse weekend?” Timmy’s mouth twitch. Slightly amused by Armie’s light teasing. He nods, straightening shoulder blades. It’s time to face the truth.

 

* * *

 

 

          Coldness and strong scent of formalin surrounds them with the first few steps they make inside. Quietness is somehow unsettling. Persistently itching on their skin. Present there to make them see. To make them feel. Because they’re things than cannot be told with words, even if you try really hard. This silence contains horrors which should never be forgotten.

          When they stepped out from elevator 2 floor below entering the morgue it’s even quieter. They need to get at the end of corridor and they do so without any hesitation. It’s like being in different world. Surrounded by ocean of dead bodies. Armie fails miserably to stop his thoughts from spinning. Cold shiver goes down his spine, when the room number 12 opens and Frank’s assistant Zalek invites them inside.

          There’s three operating tables in the room, but only on the one –  in the middle  – lays a corpse. He comes forward. Standing now just in front of it, Frank and Timmy at the other side. The body is now clean and under strong lights every mark, every bruise clearly visible.

          Her thorax cut in usual way. A large and deep Y-incision, starting from the top of each shoulder and running down the front of the chest meeting at the lower point of the sternum, then further through abdominal cavity avoiding umbilicus on the left side down to pubic symphysis. The skin and muscles underneath it are inverted. The breastbone is now removed alongside with cut fragments of the ribs.

“I’ve already removed the organs and weighed them. Heart, lungs and liver are in exceptionally good state. Not wonderful one, she clearly smoked and drink, but they could’ve serve her for a long time. As for brain – it’s not damaged in any way. And before you ask there was no semen, if she had sex then they used condoms, as they should obviously”

“So … what’s the thing if almost everything is just perfect?” Armie finally asks, watching Timmy pulling nitrile gloves and stepping further to examine the body.

“Exactly this” Frank states “There’s nothing wrong. Nothing. Not even a thing. I suspected the cause of death might be crushed skull but it’s not. It happened after her death”

“How do you know for sure?”

“The blood pressure” Timmy answers without doubt, making Armie look at him.

“What?!” his voice a little bit to high with a colouring it a hint of doubt. Timmy cast a glance at him briefly, looking down again and with his gloved hands exploring the corpse

“If someone would crush her scalp when she was still breathing, then she would lost a huge amount of blood, because her heart was working, pumping blood like crazy to each and every organ. Not mentioning that head itself is strongly supplied with blood. Someone cuts accidentally your brow ridge and you end up in emergency because they need to stitch it. So he or she, whoever did it would end up in fucking red blood fountain. But our case is different, her heart wasn’t working when that happened. She was already dead”

“Right” Armie utters dumbstruck. He knew Timmy was a little smart-ass (sometimes going along with show-off), but he never heard from him something like this. Yes, he always had a good questions to ask, the right question, but responding to one?! Not even once “So we have no idea what’s the cause of death nor we have any information about who she is. I would say we’re fucked”

Timmy’s lips curve in sly smirk, because Armie at all costs avoids cursing particularly in here for well-known reasons

“Anything unusual in her stomach?”

“Apparently not. I mean I got sample and send to LJ. The blood sample and other fluids too. You probably will have results pretty soon. From what I can tell her stomach was empty. Only hydrochloric acid, no half-digested food”

“There still might be something in the urine or something that was dissolved in the acid. We’ll have to wait for results. Frank what about kidneys?” Armie is not sure why Timmy ask about them, but he has worked with him enough time to know that if he ask about something you better listen to the answer

“They look good as the rest of her body. I’m really surprised. If she wasn’t find in the alley, I would go with natural reasons as cause of death”

“And that little cut?” Armie looks at him. He carefully lifts her hand, concentrating on her palm, moving his fingers slowly over it, pressing just a little at the end

“For now, it’s nothing. It’s a clear cut so I would say something plain, small and sharp. Razor blade perhaps. But I’m only guessing, though it’s seems almost irrelevant to all I’ve found.

Timmy nods eventually, taking off the gloves and throwing them to the bin.

“When can we expect report from autopsy?”

“Give me few days. I need to catalogue all of this firstly, then I would write you report”

 

* * *

 

 

“I agree with you. We’re fucked” Timmy snaps as soon as they’re in the car and no one can hear them

“What do you mean?” Armie asks, slowly leaving the parking lot and the department with all his horror

“That we have nothing. No name, no cause of death. It’s all a fucking mystery and the more I think about this the more I dread about what we can find. I can’t get rid of my mind  insistent thought that it was carefully planned. And if it’s true then we’re fucked even more. There’s also one more thing” he adds slowly at the end

“What?” Armie asks curious, casting a glance at Timmy, who as usually is spread on passenger seat, eyes locked on the road. He looks lost in his own thoughts, dark curls in his forehead, some loosely hanging in front of his eyes, but he doesn’t care

“You remember what Frank said – if it wasn’t for the place we found her and the cut on parietal bone – he would call it a natural death. There would be no case”

“So … you’re saying we probably have in our hands a maniac, who is capable of everything and he is really good at planning things almost to the point to cover a murder so efficiently we don’t have anything to work with”

“Hammer your manner to exaggerate everything I say is toadying. But this sum up is pretty accurate. Though I wouldn’t be so fast to jumping to conclusions, we should wait for forensic reports”

“How did you know about the blood pressure?” he asks before he can stop himself. And he does it just because he wants to know the answer. And because it’s something about Timmy, something he wants to know. Something more personal than smoking. So he takes his chance

“I just … listen” Timmy replies and for a split of a second Armie can feel that _night-Timmy_ is with him again. The part even more reserved but also more shy and unsure “I like reading and I also hate to ask the same questions, so instead of coming here every time as stupid ogre, I’ve just done my research. And as I’ve said I always listen to Frank, he explains a lot if you want to know” he shrugs, saying _it’s not a big deal, everyone can do that_. Armie find himself unable to find something good to say. He’s never done that. He didn’t even consider doing that.

“So what do we do know?” he asks instead, for some reasons startled about Timmy’s truthful, not cheeky answer. He had expected something more like _‘Hammer not everyone is so narrow-minded as you and shows more interest only for football’._ The simple truth was unexpected and Armie couldn’t decipher exactly what he felt about it, so he went for something they both feel save with. The case

“Not much” the strict tone is back, the traces of vulnerability already suppressed “We need to wait for all those fucking reports then if we’ll have something to work with. Even if that could be nothing” his voice bittersweet. Armie can’t figure out what’s wrong. He can sense it, that Timmy is not his usual self, yet it feels almost to personal to ask. Especially knowing Timmy’s reservation about his life.

“You don’t need to thank me” the cocky smile is there and Armie glance at him puzzled, not entirely aware if he missed something

“For what?!”

“Somehow I have a perfect timing and today I was even beyond myself and arrived just on time to save you from Marion’s sharp claws” Armie laughs, bits his lower lip thinking

“Oh my precious saviour.  A simple _‘thank you’_ is enough or should I do something more” Timmy looked at him amused, his lips slightly parted, the glimpse of his teeth visible

“I enjoyed the show. You were horrified and she was talking like crazy, stopping her seemed impossible. But my favourite part was when she asked you something and you stood there petrified, completely dumbstruck and then the sudden relief when I called you, so you didn’t have to answer her. It’s better than watching tv if you want to know. I have one question though– what she wanted to do with you?!”

 

* * *

 

 

          Thursday rolled over and Armie found himself a little too distress. Their case was going nowhere, because they don’t have even a thing to work with. Spending two days searching and finding nothing, only left a bitter taste and Armie couldn’t supress the feeling of failure. They were still waiting for those stupid reports, but Armie – as usual – was more sceptical towards them. Unlike Timmy of course. They need name. That was the key to move forward. The name, the background and everything what was coming with it. Still they had nothing and that was a really bad sign.

         He enters their office, expecting Timmy to be there as he always is. He looks at him and stopps abruptly. Timmy is watching him attentively and this is odd.

“What?” Armie blurts out too harshly. ' _It doesn’t matter'_ he thinks quickly. For Timmy at least it doesn’t matter, he corrects himself.

“Amanda Spence is our Jane Doe”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm whatitis-inside on tumblr. Come and say hi.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's shorter than previous once, but the things will happen in the next chapter! Promise
> 
>  **Disclaimer** : I’m not a medic nor a cop, basically what I want to say that sometimes things won’t be the same as they are real life, though I would try for them to be.  
> Sometimes I will use a scientific/medical language – if you can’t understand what I’m talking about just ask (or googled it), I’ll be glad to help you with reliable information.  
> Also this is a fiction – characters are my creation, perhaps you’ll find them surprising (I’ve changed some of their features, so they could match the story better)

_What’s wrong with the world and how'd we get so cold_

**Bridge Back to Your Heart, The Beach**

 

_It’s dark. His skin is covered in sweat, his shirt soaked in it. He rubs his temples trying to remain calm. The place is small and humid. He hears water, every single drop of it tapping on the sink and disappearing. He counts them until he doesn’t remember the last number and then he starts all over again. He has to occupy his mind with something, even with something as pointless as this. His lips are chapped, he moves his tongue over them trying to ease the pain. He desperately needs water, but there’s nothing here. He searched every corner, every small part of this room. Nothing. He can’t think about this now, but it’s only him. Alone. With his thoughts. He pulls himself from sitting position, avoiding at all costs to stand on injured leg. He thinks it’s twisted ankle. It doesn’t feel like broken. It can be adrenaline after all, so he doesn’t risk. His eyes are now adjusted to the dark, it’s easier to move. From one wall to another. He counts. One step, one drop. He has to wait. He fucked up remarkably. He should’ve let go, but instead he let himself be lured as stupid fly into a trap. He curses loudly. Incorrectly placed foot and the pain spreads, heating sensation causing him to stop. He’s panting. Taking shallow breaths, holding air for a few seconds. He needs to remain calm. That’s what he had said. He sits on cold ground again. His hair damp, nestled on his neck. The water never stops, so he starts counting._

 

* * *

 

 

          He can’t tell if he is surprised seeing the house. Isn’t he a living evidence that kids raised in so-called normal families ends up pretty fucked up. Although his subconscious prompt images of small, dirty apartment and alcoholic parents. _Stereotypes._ Armie gives him a look and he chuckles. It’s semi-detached house with small garden in the front. Timmy almost can see a perfect American family gathered in the living room to eat diner. Almost. Because he doesn’t believe in perfections. Nor he can supress the feeling of repulsion crawling on his skin. The vivid image is still with him. Red blurred lipstick and golden earrings.

“Just please be more gentle than usual” he turns to face Armie. He doesn’t say anything in response. It’s pointless. Perhaps he lately acted more than asshole he always is. He was more sharp, more explicit, more vulgar, more annoying. He certainly was. But why he should care about all this now?!

          Luck. Fluke. Chance. Whatever you want to call it. The name appeared from nowhere. By pure accident one of arrested guys (from pub-riot) saw her photo. Got scared, almost fainted and repeated countless times that he didn’t kill her. Until they found out where she was mostly seen, he was swearing to the love for his mother and then to god that he didn’t do anything to her. It took some time to calm him down. But they had name and with the name they could finally work.

          The doors opens after few knocks and they stay face to face with a woman in her late fifties. Her platinum blond hair perfectly combed in neat bun. The black dress correctly fitted and accurately combined with black stilettos and small pearl earrings. _Stiff upper lip_ Timmy thinks. He usually doesn’t – no it’s a blatant lie – he always judges people on his first impressions. He is a good character reader – if you want to put it that way and the lady in front of him looks like a real bitch. He hears Armie introducing them, he only nods, _stiff-upper-lip_ watches them with unusual interest. Armie asks if they can come inside, because it’s a delicate issue they want to discuss. She lets them, heading inside. Stopping in the living room, seating herself on one of luxurious armchairs in burgundy shade. Armie sits near her, he always does it the same way. By being gentle, calm and supporting. Timmy wonders around the room, watching both of them out of the corner of his eyes. There’s no family photos, only a few haphazardly placed paintings, that doesn’t really match. Nor to each other, nor to the place. Timmy has a good taste (or hopes he has one), but this room is a living proof that kitsch exist. The worst part is – Timmy decides after few moments – that they don’t realised that.

“I’m afraid to say that your daughter is dead” Timmy turns around, watching woman with piercing eyes. She doesn’t even flinch, she just stays there perfectly calm, some traces of her amicable smile still on her lips “Umm … we need to ask you a few questions” Armie finally adds hesitantly, unexpected indifference making him uncomfortable. Timmy licks his upper lip, patiently waiting. The woman seems unmoved, uninterest as if they were talking about something foolish as weather. _Your daughter is dead._ He wants to scream the undeniable truth in her ear. To shake her. To make her know that her daughter is now laying cold in autopsy table in the morgue. He doesn’t. His face blank, expressionless. He looks at her with cold eyes. She looks back unexpectedly. Searching, perhaps, for some sort of comfort.

“When have you seen your daughter for the last time?” gentle tone of Armie voice, makes her gaze at him once again

“I haven’t seen my daughter for more than 3 years” her answer somehow unpredicted, filling the silence, reverberating  from the walls

“You didn’t preserve any sort of relationship with her over those years? No phone calls, no messages, no accidental meetings?”

“Let me rephrase myself officer Hammer. I haven’t seen her, I haven’t talked with her, I haven’t had any sort of contact with her. For me she was dead for a long time” Armie looks at her horrified, unable to proceed, unable to even process her words.

“You did know though she was a hooker?” Timmy steps in, her cold gaze immediately at him. He doesn’t let her intimidate him, looking her straight into eyes. Cold. Sharp. Confident

“I had no idea about her profession” she says, accentuating _her_ with an icy tone “She was an adult”

“She was barley 22” Timmy points out calmly, although everything in him screams with rage and hate towards this woman.

“So like I said an adult”

          He presses the tip of his tongue between his teeth, thinking. They both just assumed with the name, they would move on faster. Oddly enough, here they are in front of the woman that gave birth to the lifeless body they’d found and they still had nothing.

“Her profession was the main reason of the lack of contact? Or for you it didn’t really matter, because as to say she didn’t matter” Timmy knows he walks on the edge, near the line he doesn’t really want to cross, but in this circumstances is more willing to do so. Just to have some sort of reaction. Something. Anything.

“If you would come more prepared, then you would know how long she was working as prostitute. So I didn’t need to respond to that question, but as you’ve already asked – no it didn’t. Therefore I see no reasons to speak with you regarding this topic further” he supposed to be taken aback. That was what she meant saying this. She assumed that he cared about this. Her mistake is his advantage. She looked surprised, unsettled for a second, but it was enough for him.

“Can you give as a contact to her friends, someone who might actually talked with her more frequently?” his tone was remotely cold, without even a shred of sympathy. She turned from him, facing the wall in front of her, placing her hands on her thigs. Remorse perhaps? By now he didn’t really care what _stiff-upper-lip_ could feel inside. She was a real cold bitch.

 

* * *

 

 

“What the fuck was that?!” Armie snapped at him barely seconds after they got to the car. Timmy looked at him expectantly, pressing his hands into the car, sensation of possible fight crawling on his skin. _It is not a good time_.

“Would you like to explain further” Timmy answered calmly

“You fucking went and called her daughter a whore, what the fuck is wrong with you?! I’ve told you to shut the fuck up if you had nothing but insults to throw straight in her face. But no, you know better don’t you Chalamet?!”

“The mother is a bitch, we both know it right?! So maybe you should think first about how she reacted, instead of attacking me in the middle of the street?!”

“Oh don’t go there. Right now I don’t give a fuck about that. I don’t care if she’s a bitch or not. You just don’t respect anyone?! Insulting everyone because you can?! Calling them names, a bitch, whore whatever suits you better, right?! Maybe you should look at yourself first. Maybe you should think before you open your mouth. Think about what you gonna say.”

          Timmystills in place. Rage bubbling in his veins, but with every bit of strength left in him, he supressed it. He feels instant hate towards Armie. Hate and anger that almost overwhelms him, making him do things that he shouldn’t do. He wants to say something horrible, he wants to come closer and punch Armie straight in the face. He wants to see Armie’s blood on his hands.

          He freezes. Curling his hands in fists, pushing his nails into the flesh until it hurts. He needs to ground himself. He needs to compose himself. He looks at Armie, who is now watching him almost worried. He can’t be here. He needs space. To think. To stop this rage. He isn’t this person.

“Maybe you too should think about what you are going to say” he says finally, though his voice is hoarse and  it breaks a little. But right now Timmy couldn’t care less, he needs to disappear as soon as possible, before he would do something stupid. He turns, thinking that perhaps he should say something else. But there’s nothing else to say, so he just walks away.

 

* * *

 

 

          There’s a possibility but he refuses to believe it’s true. It can’t be. It’s not. The man is dead and death-ones doesn’t kill people. Yet the feeling of similarity is there. Scratching his neck like a stiff collar. It was something he couldn’t deny. The overwhelming sensation that he was once again in the basement is hard to supress. He closes his eyes and he can feel coldness enclosing his body. He hears water. One drop, then another. He doesn’t even know when he starts counting them. _Stop it_. His body screams, but his mind isn’t listening. Because the pain in his ankle is palpable, spreading like a lethal plague. _Stop it._ He opens his eyes, barely holding cigarette in his shaking hands. It’s not true. This isn’t real. He survived. He is not a victim. Not anymore. He was dead. _DeadDeadDead_. He takes deep drag. He needs to stay _fucking_ -calm. He had survived. He compartmentalized every vulnerable feeling he ever had. He supressed every emotion that could make him weak. He had survived.

 _You’re not broken_.

He doesn’t believe that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm whatitis-inside on tumblr. Come and say hi.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I said before things will go slow, but that doesn't mean nothing is going to happen meanwhile. This chapter is longer than previous one and slightly weirder.   
> Leave a comment if you liked it or not!
> 
>  
> 
>  **Disclaimer** : I’m not a medic nor a cop, basically what I want to say that sometimes things won’t be the same as they are real life, though I would try for them to be.  
> Sometimes I will use a scientific/medical language – if you can’t understand what I’m talking about just ask (or googled it), I’ll be glad to help you with reliable information.  
> Also this is a fiction – characters are my creation, perhaps you’ll find them surprising (I’ve changed some of their features, so they could match the story better)

_“Are you going to break?_

_What's it going to take?”_

**Safe Yourself, Kaleo**

 

          He needed to let go all of this anger. Because the only thing he knew how to handle was the exact opposite. The cold affectionless relationships. He kept himself guarded, collected because the minute he didn’t things just went haywire. But he knew too well that just because something was buried deep couldn’t dig itself back up again. It’s never gone completely. It’s always with you. Always there, silently reminding what you are. Those echoes of it. That live inside you. Lying in wait for the worst possible moment to reveal the cracks and unhealable scratches that you pretended to forget that existed.

          He was fuelled by hate. Hate was safe. Something he could hold on to. Hate never questioned, never doubted, never wondered. It told you were you stood because it named your enemy. And he knew too well who his enemy was. _Him_

          His face was covered in thin layer of sweat. He pushed his hair out of his eyes, focused on one thing. To collect himself. Punches were coming one after another, no spare moment between them.  Punching bag was a silent receiver of his anger. Taking them calmly, almost quietly. This was safe. Felt safe. He wasn’t hurting anyone else beside himself. But right now he needed the pain, the ache. To just ground himself, to remind himself who he was.

_‘You’re weak and pathetic. You pretend so hard to be good. You’re just like me. A real monster. You want blood’_

          The words echoing in his head. Making him frantic. Urging him to hurt himself more. Punch the wall with his bare hands. Break his bones just to hear sharp cracking sound. Maddening thoughts surrounding him, enclosing him. Making him feel weak. Making him feel someone else.

          So he did the only think he thought could help. Thrusting more. With all force he could gather. Until he couldn’t see straight. Until the ache in his muscles would overstep the thoughts, until the pain would suppress them.

 

* * *

 

 

          He fucked up. He was sure about that. Timmy didn’t answer his phone-calls and he wasn’t even surprised about it. The look he gave him before he left. _Fuck._ He could still see the disappointment mixed with anger in Timmy’s green eyes. The image haunting, tormenting him. He wanted to know more and he just fucked everything up remarkably. This was all about trust and Armie simply shouted that he didn’t trust Timmy. Not even a little.

          He entered the gym as usually in Friday morning, thinking mostly what he should say when he sees Timmy in the office. Apologize? Or let that thing go away as if nothing happened? Timmy probably would feel better with the latter and Armie would bet all his fortune (though he didn’t had that much) that Timmy would behave himself as always. Cold. Bitter. Expressionless. And perhaps he should do just that. Pretend. The argument between them was always present, always there to remind them how different the two of them are. But Armie just couldn’t shrug it as it was nothing. He still didn’t approve what Timmy has said. It was bad and inappropriate even though the mother didn’t seem affected about it. But he wanted … no he needed to apologize. He shouldn’t have yell. Nor should he drag everything else that bothered him in the argument just because he couldn’t help himself.

          He froze in place in the moment he entered the room. He blinked several times just to make himself sure about what he was witnessing. Although it was weird, extremely unusual, but Timmy was there. Punching the bag frantically, with all strength and power he could muster.

          His feet were moving even before he was aware of that. Closing distance between them. He watches mesmerized Timmy’s movements. His muscles working beneath small, white tee shirt. His hands and legs moving back and forward. He’s panting, taking only shallow inhales, filling his lungs for mere seconds. He stands now just in front of him and Armie is almost certain that Timmy is aware of his presence, though he decided to not stop.

“You should take deeper breaths and exhale just before you blow” Armie says eventually, after Timmy non-verbally makes clear that he doesn’t want to talk. In fact he doesn’t even want to look at Armie.

“Anything else to add?” Timmy asks between punches, giving zero fucks to Armie’s words. He knows all of it. He knows what he should do to knock out someone. But this time he wants do this to himself. His muscles are burning as well as his lungs, but he isn’t ready to stop. He still feels the rage inside him, the words are still echoing – more silently now, as if they’re fading. Slowly vanishing into thin air.

“Yeah. You fancy fight with me?”

 

* * *

 

 

          He shouldn’t. He is 100% sure he shouldn’t, but still he is here. In one corner of boxing ring with his gloves still on his hands. Waiting for Armie to get ready. And while he knows it’s all bad idea from the beginning to the end, he still wants to do this.

“Ready?” Armie asks, standing in the middle, waiting for him to come. Timmy hesitates for nano-second, because it’s bad. He wants to hurt. He wants to hurt and be hurt at the same time. And he’s willing to take the pain and to cause the pain. He wants to be broken. He nods in agreement, stepping closer. And it starts.

          His pulse quickens as they circled, almost like caged animals. His heart is pounding fast and hard in his chest and he can only feel. All thoughts now lost in the abyss of nonentity. He looks Armie straight in the eyes just before leaning forward and giving the first, tentative punch. Armie ducks easily and Timmy is prepared for a return blow that doesn’t come. Armie smiles at him knowingly. But Timmy is beyond point of caring. He throws himself at Armie with small but pointed punches on his ribcage. Armie tries to block him, but Timmy’s advantage is his swiftness, when Armie blocks the right Timmy goes fast to the left. Timmy takes shallow breaths, allowing himself to feel the burning pain of exhaustion.

“I’m sorry” Armie said after a while and Timmy can feel instant rage raising again, because he doesn’t want this. He doesn’t need this. Insincere apologizes, said only because someone it was expected.

“Don’t” he snaps through clenched teeth, holding his guard high waiting for another action to happen

“But I need to. Fuck. I want to” Armie practically growls frustrated. But Timmy doesn’t want to hear it. None of it. _Broken. He isn’t broken._ He throws himself franticly at Armie. He wants pain and he wants to end this and he doesn’t want hear Armie saying ‘sorry’. He doesn’t deserve it. He rushes forward, aiming firstly in jawline, moving swiftly to Armie’s ribcage. Armie goes backwards, panting. Burning ache spreading through his body.  Thin layer of sweat covers his skin, when he tries to regain composure. He quite faultily assumed that Timmy didn’t know how to fight, but realizing for his own surprise that Timmy was boxing in the same way he always argued. With coldness, unnerving perfection and strict professionalism. He was aiming to win without second thoughts about means. The iciness sipping slowly through his eyes, makes Armie wonder what the hell is happening right now. Why with all his senses he perceives that something is not quite right and that there’s more than their stupid argument from previous day. The thoughts flashing through his head in seconds, leaving more doubts and questions. But he can’t think about that now, while Timmy’s fists are still aiming at him with ruthless and relentless frigidness. He raise his guard, blocking rapid blows. Steps backwards, making space between them and gaining time to think.

“I didn’t mean to shout at you, that was fucking unprofessional and mean in all senses” he says loudly, carefully watching as Timmy approaches him like a predator. He prepares for another frantic attack, now aware of what he should expect and how he should react. When Timmy practically run at him, they both collapse to the floor. Armie’s back hits the ground with audible pop, Timmy comes on top of him. Unbalanced.

 _‘Debauched’_ Armie’s mind prompts, looking at Timmy straddling him. His lips parted, his body flushed with heat and covered in sweat. But he doesn’t have time to process it or think how inappropriate is to think about Timmy in that way, because he starts hitting his abdomen with fierceness. Armie makes quick note to think about it later and in one swift motion, using his weight as his advantage, turns them over. Timmy gasps, shock spreading over his face softening his hard features just a little. They’re both panting and Timmy still struggles beneath Armie, fighting him even though he has no chances to release himself.

“Jesus, can you fucking stop” Armie finally says with slight amount of angriness colouring  his voice that’s dominated with amusement.

          Timmy closes his eyes, taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly, fighting with urge to run away and never come back again. It’s all wrong. He shouldn’t use Armie as living and breathing punching bag, which can not only take but also give punches. He tries to clear his mind, concentrating on burning ache in his muscles. Awareness that Armie is straddling him, slowly comes to his mind. The hardness of his thighs around Timmy’s hips, the weight pinning him to the floor. He opens his eyes only to find Armie looking at him with a strange glimpse. All of sudden he feels suffocated like wild animal locked in cage, wanting to bite, to harm, to attack. But he can’t. So he doesn’t.

“Can you let me go?” he finally asks and Armie can see with amazing clarity as cold and expressionless mask Timmy puts on his face.

          But when Timmy stands up and looks at him to only leave him there standing in the middle of the ring, heading towards the lockers, Armie’s head can’t stop thinking which of Timmy’s is real. He finally shakes his head in disbelieve. The tension slowly clearing out, the sweet sensation of burning easing his spiral thoughts, when he removes gloves and tosses them away. Denying to think about Timmy’s parted lips and flushed cheeks as he’s heading to showers.   

 

* * *

 

 

“Let’s clear things out” Timmy says, sitting in his chair, almost two hours after what happened in the gym “I don’t want your apologizes Armie. I don’t need them. I think I made this clear enough those previous times. Yes I was pissed and maybe I even overreacted, but it’s not your problem”

          Armie is sure he’s staring at Tim in disbelief. He wonders what is wrong with him and this all apologize related issue, but has no power left to start _debating_ now. He’s also certain – and it’s only because he can say now he knows more about Timmy than Timmy would say he does – that arguing won’t solve this problem. The only time Timmy acted based on his feelings was exactly today. At the gym. For now Armie just makes a quick note to himself about that. Realising if he wants to know Timmy more, he need a good tactic beforehand.

“Sure” Armie finally states, feeling Timmy relaxing instantly “So what’re we going to do now?”

“Well her mother won’t tell us more even if we would pression her. We might have shot with the father, but he may have the same attitude as stiff-upper-lip so I wouldn’t count on that much” Armie chuckles and Timmy just shrugs. He still has no problem of calling platinum-blond a bitch (because she’s a real cold bitch), but somehow he finds stiff-upper-lip more suitable

“With friends we go then. Let’s just hope they know more than mother. Who we have”

“There’s Julie, a friend from high-school with whom she apparently stayed in touch and the guy named Conor her former boyfriend. I don’t suppose they know something, but at the moment we have nothing more than this”

“Let’s go with the lady then. I doubt that after the break up, the guy would keep up with her life”

“Well Armie just because you can’t stay civil with your exes doesn’t mean all people have the same problem”

“Oh so now you’re gonna tell me something about your exes?! I’m all ears”

          Armie laughs softly following Timmy whose cheeks are slightly pink with embarrassment.

 

* * *

 

 

          As it turns out Julie Colton lives in grey city block on 10th floor. Her apartment is small – two poorly decorated rooms, small kitchen and even smaller bathroom. Timmy is not here to judge her because of it, but he has a persistent feeling of sadness hiding in every corner of the flat, peeking at them with huge knowing eyes. No photos, no postcards, no stupid notes. Everything feels gloomy and desolated. And Timmy thinks looking at Julie from his seat, that maybe it all mirrors who she is.

          Uneasiness passes over him when she looks at him with knowing eyes. But she can’t know about his past, can she?! This feels strange almost as entering the alternate universe for the first time and everything seems to be upside down. Only to realise at the end that it was all the same. You just looked at things differently.

          The silence stretches between them and for first time in the long time, Timmy can’t find words to starts conversation, because all he can think about is that _stare._ This _‘I know’_ buried deep in her eyes, slowly crawling on the floor, searching another victim, like a shadow wanting to possess you.  He can almost feel, those slender, pale, dead-looking fingers encircling his ankle, pulling up on his leg, resting on his lap for a while, looking at him like he wasn’t a stranger but a good old friend to greet, to finally resume its journey and find destination. It’s this weird feeling of déjà vu, strange sensation of living this before. Having this before.

          Armie clears his throat, she looks at him and the spell is broken. Timmy’s chest is clenched, but he takes a tentative breath, heavy tension leaving his body, but the feeling doesn’t go away. Clinging to him, poking its sharp, long claws directly in his skin. Prolongating its presence.

_‘just because something was buried deep couldn’t dig itself back up again’_

“Miss Colton he just have few questions for you” Armie eventually speaks and Timmy finds his strong, soft voice soothing his jittery emotions “We’re here because of Amanda Spence. You did know her, is that right?”

“Yes. I did know Amanda. We were friends in high-school” her voice is drained, empty almost. As if she neglected to use it and it was hard to resonate the sound out of her body

“And after school did you stay in touch?”

“Did you stay in touch with all your high-school so-called friends?” she retorted “I’m not saying we weren’t close back then, but the meaning of friendship develops through years. High school is specific environment to live in and sometimes the simplest way is to find people that will help you go through it. Amanda and I were friends, we stick together almost entire time, we confide in each other. But we grew apart with time, because there was no real closeness between us or sincere affection”

“Have you seen her recently?” she only tilts her head slightly, looking at Timmy with strangeness.  He can’t quite place this look or describe it.

“The funny things is that yes I saw her recently. Almost 3 years of radio silence and out of blue she appears in my doorstep, asking for help”  Julie’s voice is somehow bitter, maybe some grudges are still present even after years. Timmy can’t help thinking - that’s  what humans are. Bitter over something that happened in different world, grabbing tightly on that resentment and rancour, because it’s safe. The negativity of it creates secure place for your delicate soul. It knows that if you allow yourself to feel happiness, if you allow yourself to be vulnerable, to be open towards others, you will get hurt. You will be crushed. Broken. We tell ourselves believable lies. We say things that are expected, because we don’t know anything else to say.

“Asking for help?” Armie incredulity causes Timmy to concentrate on here and now, pushing aside his buried fears, there’s no need to dip in past that is no more his.

“Yes. She wanted money and from what she said during those 5 minutes, I understood that I was her last chance and she didn’t have anyone else to ask. And before you ask – I said no, not only because I don’t trust her anymore, but I don’t have money to spend for some old high-school friend, who seemed forget about me the minute after we graduated. I said this to her as well and asked nicely to not come back”

“Has she said why she needed the money?”

“No and I wasn’t interested in it neither. As I said before, we’re not friends anymore, therefore I see no reasons to give her money that I don’t even have. If she has problems then I believe she should go and ask her parents for help”

“So you don’t know about rough interaction with her parents?” Armie asks, curiosity sipping over, colouring his tone subtly

“All I can tell you is what it was like between Amanda and her parents when we were in high-school, but it was a typical rebel teenager stuff and I wouldn’t count much on that”

“Can you be more precise?”

“Honestly I can’t. It was relevant at the time when we were discussing it. How her parents treated her horribly, how she wasn’t allowed to drink alcohol or go at night to wild parties. How they wanted for her to go to college, always insisting she should study more and more. It was all of this, a teenager rebellion against household severity” her voice is firm and secure, confident about what she was saying “And now can you tell me, why are you asking about her. Did she do something illegal or simply stupid?!”

          Timmy wants to say that yes, she probably did do something utterly stupid and that’s why her body was now cold and useless, lying on metal table in the morgue. But he doesn’t.

“She was murdered”

          The small gasp of shock escapes Julie’s lips and she curls her hands in tight fists. When she lifts her eyes and gaze at Timmy, the knowing look is there once again. The shadowy shape-shifter, transferring between souls, taking them, claiming them as his. It’s not the darkness – it’s reality that terrifies the most.

 

* * *

 

 

          People think that sometimes it’s better to say a lie than truth. Convincing that if there’s no harm done, then everything should be fine. Timmy thinks about it, heading towards the car. As detective he needs to tell difference between partial truths and utter lies. The body language, the small nuances, the built tension. The tiny crack in voice, too confident look. It’s all there, you just have to see it. But as they both are sliding to their seats, Timmy finds something unnerving about Julie Colton. For instance he is 100% sure that she told them truth, that she didn’t hide any relevant information to herself and spoke with complete sincerity about everything she knew. But he can feel that there’s something more. It’s palpable. Almost like having someone behind you, their humid breath tickling your neck, persistent in action, but when you finally turn around there’s no one.

“What do you think” Timmy finally asks, looking at Armie expectantly

“Hell if I knew. That chick is weird and I honestly don’t know what is all about with that apartment, but it’s creepy” Timmy chuckles, Armie’s word providing needed slackness “And as bad as it sounds we still have nothing. The high-school bff that was cut as soon they’ve finished school. Amanda wasn’t probably the best person to be around”

“But she needed money”

“Yes, but that doesn’t give us any hunches, where we should start digging. Everyone needs money these days and Colton couldn’t say how much Amanda needed or for what exactly. It’s not even strange she didn’t go to her parents for help, considering the icy-queen behaviour towards her daughter. That woman could even say that it what she deserved”

“The icy-queen huh?”

“Well you’re not the only one that can come with a proper nickname, Chalamet”

 

* * *

 

 

          Armie drinks his second coffee that day. It’s to big word for poorly black liquid in his paper cup, but has to fulfil its task and make his mind focus on the case. It’s surreal that it’s Friday and that in the morning Timmy and him had boxing fight, because now it all seem irrelevant, almost out of place. But it did happen and the actual consciousness makes Armie smile in his cup, when he downs the rest of this awful brew.  

“Do you think we should go and talk with that ex-boyfriend? Maybe he knows more than her friend?” they’re heading towards the office, because Tim wanted to check if anything new appear on their desks while they were away

“It’s not that we have something more to do, right? This Conor guy may have heard something or at least she came asking for money to him as she did with Julie”

“Well that that’s worth a try. Come one we still need to check his address and then we can corner him properly”

“I would hold with that if I were you” they both look at Nick with surprise, waiting impatiently for him to continue

“What is it then Nick?!” Armie asks concerned

“We may have another body”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm whatitis-inside on tumblr - come and scream at me!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all I want to apologize for such a long time of waiting. The real life sometimes sucks and well it’s not really excuse, but I just had a bunch of stuff to do and then … well then I couldn’t get my head around this story.   
> It’s also really short chapter – and I’m apologizing for this as well, but I wanted to put something than leave it hanging. I’m going back on the track, there will be more updates.  
> Also special thanks to @larawashere for words, support and wanting more of this story. *Timmy bow*

_"Isn't it lovely, all alone_

_Tear me to pieces, skin to bone"_

**Lovely, Billie Eilish/Khalid**

 

He feels filthy. Dirty in that way when you sense the stickiness and  glueyness of your own body, but you can’t get rid of it. It’s like having one strand of hair in your mouth, you can feel it on your tongue the texture, the almost non-existent weight. But when you try to remove it with your fingers, you just can’t. Too sloppy, too big, too clumsy. You just leave it like this.

But his impurity has nothing to do with dirt. It’s inside him. Permanently glued. It’s self-soul filthiness. Because you know too much. Because you witnessed too horrific things to be pure. Because _his_ blood is in your veins and you can’t deny it. It rushes through your body, it’s the reason why you are even alive.

You see yourself in the mirror. Looking straight into your eyes. And there it is. _The monster._ The beast that you didn’t create. Hiding behind your lenses. Waiting there. You don’t even stand a chance, before it consumes you. Moving silkily. Like a shadow becoming your reality. Becoming you. And you don’t even notice, because you could see it there. Because you knew there’s nothing you can do. Hiding – from who?! From yourself?! Escaping – where?! To the woods – it will be there too. Because it is inside you. Because at some point it _became_ you.

He stares at the body. Asking himself if the answer is there. Wondering if what he thinks might be true. Or he just put two alike puzzles that after all don’t really match. It’s too much to think, because the man is dead. The monster is buried deep down and no-one cares about the grave. Frankly, he isn’t even sure that there is any grave. But there are too many similarities to just ignore the issue. Because people are being killed. The need to leave past in the past is strong. As someone’s hand around your throat, pushing with force. Strangling you. The oxygen can’t pass through it and you can’t fight anymore. That’s where you realise that there’s no-one there. And the hand is your present self, wanting to retain that bit of sanity and normality you gain through years.

The risk is huge. Because pointing similarities would mean exposing himself in a way he doesn’t really want. Even know he can see in his mind, how everyone would judge him. Would look at him with disgust. Repugnance. Seeing not a man, but the monster’s child. That was making him sick. He buried deep down all this emotions, all this memories. And he wanted them to be buried. Forever.

He looks at the body. Strong led light exposing every bruise, every pore, every line. She is dead. The blood in her veins is no more rushing through her body. Her heart is no more beating in her chest. Her lips, even parted, are no more taking breaths. Even shallow ones. He feels weight on his shoulders and know it isn’t fair. It isn’t fair to choose between your own sanity and other people life’s. But life isn’t fair. You get that one pretty quickly once you’re born. Decision has to be made. In one way or another. His fingers are moving lightly on her cold skin. Feeling the texture beneath his fingertips even though he has nitrile gloves. There are few bruises. Few cuts on her chest and nasty scratches on her face, on left side more close to the ear. She’s pale and cold. And Timmy, looking at her closed eyes, seeing black bags underneath them, realises that some demons you can’t fight alone. Decisions is made for better or for worse.

“Why we didn’t know sooner?” he hears Armie asking but it’s muffled like there’s a thick wall between them. He lets his fingers move lightly across her skin. Coldness transferring through this small touch, making him wonder what did he do wrong. Her lips parted when he looks at them, more bluish than normally.

“Because until now no one could say that they’re similar”

“Why?”

“Because they did the autopsy” Timmy says, bringing on himself attention of everybody, especially Armie “Because once again nothing seems to be wrong, yet she’s dead”

Armie doesn’t usually ask stupid questions, even though he doesn’t really know anything about it. Right now, and Timmy somehow can feel it, he’s angry and upset and doesn’t think straight, he just wants to know why.

Decision is made. For better or for worse.

“So it’s the same like the other woman?” Armie leaves the question hanging in the air, waiting for an answer, looking at Timmy. This stupid feeling again, clenching around Timmy’s chest, just because Armie is looking at him, directly at him, his eyes saying _‘tell me’_. He doesn’t and Timmy is sure about that, but the knowledge is not enough to shrug this like nothing, wave his hand mindlessly in the air, pushing annoying fly away, the buzzing noise fading away to your relive. It’s not that simple. It’s not that easy.

“Not everything” answers finally comes. Timmy hitch on to this, focusing fully on the task in hand, to listen and to understand, to push away all the strange feelings. He doesn’t need them. He doesn’t need them at all – yet they always find their way  “Her skull is not crushed, there’s less bruises and scratches on her face.  Here we have sprained ankle, dried blood on her chin and clothes, she had nosebleed. No particular cause of death visible. As we know now autopsy revealed nothing new”

“Do we know who she was?”

“Unfortunately no”

The reality is apparently a hard pill to swallow. You can pretend everything is fine, go with your life forward, trying not only _be_. When you suppressed these memories, pushed somewhere there to not think about them, to not even acknowledge their existence, they come back, just like that. With a snap of fingers, crushing you down. Making you doubt every single thing you know about yourself. Or you thought you know. One step forward, three steps back. The non-ending dance of your life, between what you truly are and what you want to be.

There’s guilt itching on his skin, scratching his legs, his arms, his head as if writing there ‘ _It’s you_. _It’s your fault’_. Again and again and again. Until there’s nothing more left of him, that this pile of numb flesh, crushed with guilt and pain. Destroyed with memories. Destroyed with sins he didn’t commit. The sins he inherited. He didn’t want them, yet that’s what he got.

He reads then re-reads and re-reads the files trying to find the smallest doubt, the tiniest hint that he’s wrong. Deep down he just knows. Knows that he can’t deny the reality, he can’t sit here wondering, doing nothing for his own sake. For his own sanity.

Room seems cold, covering his body with it like a blanket, but the warmness never comes. There’s thing prickling underneath his skin, demanding to just leave. To finally run. Run from everything. From who he is. From who he supposed to be. That never ending story of debating between choosing.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s late in the evening. Timmy is glancing almost anxiously to Armie. They’re both sitting at their desks, the silence feeling every corner of the room. For the first time in months making Timmy uncomfortable with it. The right words will never come, because there’re no right words to say this. Nothing will save him. He licks his lips, twisting his fingers to just occupy his mind for a second with something else. He wish he could go outside and smoke, burn the entire cigarette down to the tip, toss it away and light another one. To fill his lungs with burning smoke, relishing the feeling of it. To just be there. But he knows he can’t, he will just lose even this little amount of courage he has now and leave.

He picks the folder and comes closer to Armie. He doesn’t know what he should say, so he just place it in the front of him. Deciding that answering direct question will be easier than telling the story.

Armie grabs it, burrowing his brows and looking at Timmy weirdly like he doesn’t really understand what’s going on. He opens it and stills.

“Fuck”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I suck at responding to comments, I read them all, but I always get easily distracted! I'm sorry for that.  
> I try updating this with decent frequency! Thank you all for the support!

_"Quiet when I'm coming home and I'm on my own_   
_And I could lie, say I like it like that, like it like that"_

**When the party's over, Billie Eilish**

 

 _‘_ The coldness was drowning him, little by little with every wave, sipping slowly through his body. What was he expecting – he wasn’t sure about that. He made peace with himself and he didn’t want to risk losing that, but … there was also this strong feeling of telling about it. Of finally saying it at loud, letting people know. It was stupid, because it wasn’t like he was lying, he was just more reserved. Some part of him though wanted Armie to know, while the other just knew that he would be like others. That he would see him as a monster. He wouldn’t handle that. At least not from Armie.

 _‘_ e was just standing. Watching carefully, wanting badly to tell the truth for once, all the consequences be damned, but some habits are no to easy to overcome.

“Fuck” Armie whispered once again, the word reverberating between them, filling the silence, fading slowly “You know it’s pretty heavy shit right?”

He looked Armie in the eyes, those blue eyes, nodding affirmatively and his mind was screaming.

“You and I … we will go for a drink. Now” and for once Timmy was glad to go and pour alcohol in his body. Maybe even forget just for a second.  

 

* * *

 

 

The bar wasn’t crowded and they easily found place near the counter. The dim light was just merciful presence as well as music. Distractions. Timmy needed distractions.

“How?” Armie simply asked, beer in his hand and Timmy stilled for a second. Thinking. Is there any good answer or world is just full of bad ones? There were so many things he wanted to say, still none of them was a good thing to say. The truth?! What is that actually.

“I came across Silent Jack a long time ago. I’m sure you’re familiar with him as anyone could be”

“Yeah, but I still wouldn’t point him as you did just now. And I must say the resemblance … is just terrifying, but as far as I know it isn’t him. It can’t be him”

“I know”  he said almost silently, staring at his own hands gripping the bottle tightly. Perhaps he should’ve ordered something stronger, then again he wasn’t sure about anything at all “I know he is dead and I’m not saying it’s him” he added after a taking a big gulp of his drink, stealing some precious seconds “What … I just think there’s too much of similarities to shrug it off. And what I have in mind is copycat”

“That’s exactly what scares me the most” Armie’s voice is harsh and raspy, muffled by the music but he hears it clearly. This horrified undertone in it. Timmy just want to scream. Scream until he won’t feel it anymore. Scream until his lungs can’t more, until his throat will just give up, until his body will stop. Yet he just sits, staring almost stupidly at his own hands. Is there blood on them? Dripping on the counter, under his nails, between his knuckles. He can’t unseen it, so he just drinks to forget.

 

* * *

 

 

He tumbles, steadying himself by grabbing Armie’s biceps. He is drunk, he knows that, but that’s so fucking unimportant right now.

“’M sorry” his head is spinning or maybe the world around him is. He isn’t sure, he doesn’t really care now. He finds the door and the cold night hits him hard, sobering him just a little. He feels good, for first time in months probably. Somehow better. He walks to the corner and stops. The corners of his mouth curves, when he leans and his back hit cold brick. He has some problem with how his hands are working, but he manages to get out of the packet cigarette and put in his mouth.

“Let me” Armie says, snatching the lighter for Timmy’s unsteady hands after he tried couple of times of lighting the tip. Armie comes closer, crowding Timmy on tiny space, cupping his hand around reefer. The tip burns and Timmy inhales deeply, allowing the smoke scratch his insides, filled him as only liquids can, invading the space.

“You don’t drink much”

It’s a statement coming from Armie and Timmy chuckles, light laughter dying slowly in his chest. This is new. This dynamic between them. Timmy is rather reserved, rude mostly as well. It’s good, being like this, laughing because he can, because right now it seems funny.

“You really are drunk”

          The laughter more louder, more awkward erupts from Timmy’s chest, resonating in the space, in the coldness of the night. It seems strange that they both are here. Strange that this moment is shared between them. Armie can’t recall anything similar happened before. Perhaps this should make him think, but he just can’t. Timmy is here, behaving like a teenager and Armie just lets it go. He just relaxes in _this_ and it’s feels good.

“Care to share?”

Timmy hands him a cigarette, licks his lips, watching Armie inhaling deeply, then letting the smoke out, that circles between them, creating  a bubble that disappear almost instantly. It feels like they’re stopped in time, existing only in this precise moment, leaning against brick wall, sharing a cigarette. Perhaps it should be odd, because Timmy doesn’t do this. He is guarded, reserved. He does his job, eats and goes to sleep. And repeats it all over again. But this just feels amazing, just standing like this. Maybe it’s alcohol, maybe it’s something else. Surprisingly Timmy doesn’t care about it. For the first time in months (years even) he just let himself be.

“You don’t do this often” once again it’s a statement not a question. Timmy giggles, he really giggles and that sound is dumbly adorable making Armie erupt in laugh in an instant. It’s stupid. It really is, because they laugh god only knows why. People are staring at them, probably thinking they’re high and maybe they are. Maybe happiness is a drug.

“Oh come on dumbass. I’ll call the cab”

“You. Are. No. Fun”

Timmy points a finger at him, accentuating every word, stepping closer and punching Armie lightly in the chest when the last word leaves his mouth _. What is he even doing?_

“Oooh speaks the party soul”

          The teasing tone doesn’t escape Timmy’s attention and perhaps he should aim at saying something sarcastic, but he can’t really focus. They are standing so – _so_ close. He can see clearly those blue eyes, wondering for a moment what exact shade of blue it is. But then his eyes slides down to Armie’s lips. Right there in the fever of a moment, in the mesmerizing feeling of letting go, he leans forward and kisses him. It’s just soft link of the lips, mouth pressed to mouth. Some part of Timmy brain knows it’s all wrong, it shouldn’t be happening, but the other one doens’t want to stop. He just deepenes the kiss, licking with the tip of his tongue Armie’s bottom lip, pushing just enough to open and then explore the wetness of his mouth. He bits, he sucks, he licks. He puts his hands in Armie’s hair, pulling strands to push him even closer. This is sweet, in the way their tongues are moving against one another, in the way Armie’s hands encircle his waist, in the way small moans escape his mouth.

          His hands moves to Armie’s chest, palming it and Timmy feels Armie’s heartbeat under his fingertips. He pushes, slowly, deliberately, his mouth still lingering, prolongating the contact until there is too much space between them to keep going.

“You taste fucking incredible”  he whisperes, biting his lower lip, drowning in sensation of Armie’s lips on his.

          He has a hangover. He is sure about it. His head is pounding like crazy with each turn to the side and it only gets worse when he bends down. And he’s also pretty sure he will throw up in some time and he hates it. He also needs to go to work. This is all a killing mixture.

          Just after swallowing aspirin and  drinking almost entire bottle of water, he remembers what he did. Or what they did.

“Fuck” hu mutters under his breath, shutting his eyes and biting his lips. Why he always must fuck it up?! He takes a few deep breaths, because there’s nothing more he could do right now. He would be grateful if Armie would follow him suit and just forgot about this entire … _thing._ But he knows Armie, he just knows who he is and he just won’t get along with this. He will dig and ask, make everything more uncomfortable than it already is. The only possibility left is to shrug it off. Pretend that is nothing. That it was just an alcohol. That they were only fooling around.

          He stands there, in his kitchen. Tightly grabbing the cup of the strongest coffee he ever drink, his hips leaning over the counter. His mind is spinning, the images of previous night blurry, but persistent. He can still recall the softness of Armie’s lips on his, how his tongue invaded his mouth, the sensations that flew over him while he grabbed that short hair between his fingers and tugged slightly.

          He shuts his eyes, trying to think about something else, but even when he leaves the house – entire hour later than normally – he still can’t stop playing it again and again in his head. He just prays silently, he will sound convincing, putting the asshole mask in full mode, hoping it will do the thing.

 

* * *

 

          

          He straightens up, pulling his shoulders back, biting the inside of his cheek. _Focus._ He opens the door, like he usually does, the only thing is that Armie is already there. Standing next to the window, turning his body towards him, his head snapping upwards.

“Good morning” Timmy says nonchalantly, going immediately to his desk, pulling the chair, feeling Armie’s eyes following his every step, almost burning a hole in his back. He takes a deep breath, before he turns

“Good morning is that all you have to say” Armie’s voice is harsh, angry in a way that Timmy never heard before.

“Look” he starts, he fists his hands, nails digging in the soft flesh of his palms, until it hurts “It was just a kiss, nothing more. I was drunk, out of my place. You were drunk as well. It was stupid and dumb, will never happen again”

          The lies – Timmy found out some time ago – come easily. It’s like telling a bed-time story to kids. You know that’s not everything is true, you switch with ease between the truth and lie you tell. Timmy is almost surprised that his voice is solid and even. _Almost._ He lied all his life. For fear, for convenience, for others. Among all the lies he told, that one might be the hardest and the most selfish.

“Right”

          Perhaps he counted on him. Hoped he would call it bullshit in his face. Just accepting – it is kind of surprising. Timmy curses his own stupidity. Just because someone shown his interest doesn’t mean they really care. Maybe he hoped Armie cared. Maybe he almost believed it’s something more. That it could be something more.

“If you really think it could be a copycat, then we need to look at this from all the angles. Because when we pull up this shit further there’s no coming back. People we freak out and we need solid base” his voice is even, detached. It’s like punch in the guts. _As you said Timmy, it’s nothing. Mistake._

**Author's Note:**

> You like it - leave a kudo or a comment. I really appreciate that  
> The title comes from Kaleo song, now it's not quite understandable then perhaps it will clarify.


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